You know I have multidimensional likes and I will appreciate even style. Buddha would have closed his eyes and ears, Mahavira would have run away: style…? But I am in my own category. Yes, I love the style The Communist Manifesto is written in, and I hate the content. Do you understand me? One can love the dress and yet hate the person. That’s actually the case with me. The last sentence in The Communist Manifesto is: Proletariat of the world unite. You have nothing to lose but your chains, and you have a world to win.
Do you see the style? The strength of saying the thing: Unite! You have nothing to lose but your chains, and a world to win. That’s what I say to my sannyasins, though I do not say unite, I say: Just be – and you have nothing to lose but your chains.
And I don’t say that you have to win the world – who cares, who bothers! Can you persuade me to become Alexander the Great or Napoleon Bonaparte or Adolph Hitler or Joseph Stalin or Mao Zedong? There is a long line of all these idiots and I don’t want to have anything to do with them. I don’t say to my sannyasins: Win – there is nothing to win. Just be – that is my manifesto. Be, because in being you have already achieved all.
Eighth…am I still right?
Good. Are you still managing? Have you preplanned?…Because I don’t hear you whispering today. Whisper a little, it feels good.
Eighth, the book by Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus. I am not a religious man in the ordinary sense; I am religious in my own way. So people will wonder why I am including books which are not religious. They are, but you have to dig deep, and then you will find their religiosity. The myth of Sisyphus is an ancient myth, and Camus used it for his book. Let me relate it to you.
Sisyphus, a god, was thrown out of heaven because he disobeyed the supreme God and was punished. The punishment was that he had to carry a big rock from the valley to the top of a mountain which was so small at the summit that each time he reached it with the huge rock and tried to put it down, the rock started rolling down to the valley again. Sisyphus has to go down to the valley again to carry the rock, huffing and puffing, perspiring – a meaningless job – knowing perfectly well it will slip again, but what to do?
This is the whole story of man. That’s why I say if you dig you will find pure religion in it. This is the situation of man, and has always been so. What are you doing? What is everybody else doing? Carrying a rock to a point where it always and always slips back to the same valley, perhaps even a little deeper every time. And next morning, after breakfast of course, you carry it again. And you know while carrying it what is going to happen. It slips again.